


Lifeline

by Dolimir



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-07
Updated: 2011-06-07
Packaged: 2017-10-20 05:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolimir/pseuds/Dolimir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>So how did one throw a lifeline to a man who was clearly drowning, but was too proud to grab the vest?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Lifeline

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2009 Picfor1000.
> 
> Many thanks go to Slodwick. I count this challenge as one of my favorites. It's the one I'll always make time to do. And I really appreciate all the time it takes for her to gather the pictures.

  
[   
](http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v11/Dolimir/?action=view&current=2749112711_b4091258b8.jpg)   


 

Bobby Singer paused on the stairwell landing to take off his cap and wipe the sweat from his forehead. New Orleans in August was a miserable experience. Add to that having to climb steep stairs in an unairconditioned building and, well, he was bucking for sainthood, that’s what he was doing. He snorted humorlessly, then put his cap back on and continued his climb.

Damn Winchesters.

Couldn’t leave a man in peace, and when they did, all he could do was worry about them.

Once he reached the correct floor, he didn’t pause in his step, but simply walked to the door he was looking for and knocked. No one answered, but then again, he wasn’t exactly expecting a warm reception.

“Boy, I know you’re in there. If you make me pick this lock, I’m not going to be a happy camper.”

He held his breath, not wanting to miss any sound. It took a moment, but he finally heard footsteps approach the door. He quickly schooled his face to one of indifference, although that was the last thing he was feeling. But Winchesters were a strange bunch. They didn’t react to things like normal people. And Dean, well, he was the most Winchester of them all.

When the boy opened the door, Bobby felt his heart drop to his stomach. Whatever had happened, it was worst than he’d been expecting. Dean’s green eyes, which normally sparkled with mischief or excitement, were flat and dull, almost brown in appearance. He kept his hair too short to be messy, but all of his normal spikes were laying flat. His sun-kissed skin was pale, making his freckles stand out more than usual. There was also a bandage on his neck that looked like it hadn’t been changed for a couple of days.

“Gonna make me stand out here all day?”

Dean shook his head, then took a step backward.

John never dealt well with a quiet Dean. Apparently, the boy’s silences reminded him too much of the time after Mary’s death when Dean’s muteness had lasted for weeks with family and months with outsiders. John was always concerned that one day Dean would turn inward and not come back out again. While Bobby could appreciate the worry, he couldn’t bring himself to challenge the boy, not when he was so obviously hurting.

Bobby took the room in with a quick glance as he entered. The bed was made. There weren’t any food containers to be seen. In fact, it didn’t look like anyone was living in the room, when Bobby knew for a fact Dean had been there for a week. While he hoped Dean was going through a cleaning phase, Bobby suspected the boy simply wasn’t eating. And Dean not eating was never a good thing.

“Did you find the priestess?”

Dean nodded, then closed the door. It seemed to take him several moments before he turned around, his gaze on the floor in front of Bobby’s feet instead of his face.

“Go sit on the bed.”

No protest, no squawk of indignation. Just simple obedience.

Bobby closed his eyes and prayed for some sort of guidance as he moved into the tiny bathroom. The medical supplies were lying on the back of the ancient toilet. He gathered what he needed and went back into the main room. Dean was sitting on the end of the bed, his face still turned downward.

Pushing Dean’s head to one side, Bobby removed the medical tape from his neck as gently, but as efficiently, as he could. The cut wasn’t deep, but was more than just a scrape. The skin had already started to heal back together, forming a scab that was sure to add to Dean’s collection of scars. Bobby nodded approvingly. The boy might be suffering mentally, but he had the good sense to take care of any physical problems before they grew worse. He dabbed antibiotic cream over the wound and put a smaller bandage on Dean’s neck.

“She dead?”

Dean nodded, without looking at him.

Bobby played a hunch. “Your first human?”

Dean swallowed hard, but neither shook his head nor nodded.

“How many minutes?”

“Three thousand two hundred and forty,” was the quiet response.

Closing his eyes, Bobby tried his damndest not to think unkindly of John Winchester. Dean was an adult by all societal norms, and he’d been helping his daddy out for as long as Bobby could remember. Dean was born to hunting like few men Bobby knew. But hunting was a vocation filled with horrifying firsts, firsts that could drive a man mad or break him or leave him hard and bitter.

And Bobby knew that being a Winchester meant Dean wouldn’t seek comfort, wouldn’t call his father until he thought he had himself under control, wouldn’t burden his brother while he was in school. Hell, he probably wouldn’t even call Jim and ask for absolution. He’d simply wait here, in this muggy shit-hole pretending to be a hotel, shredding pieces out of his soul, until he got the call with his next orders.

Winchesters didn’t do sympathy, and he knew Dean wouldn’t appreciate any offers to talk. He suspected the boy would rather cut off a limb than experience any sort of emotional release.

So how did one throw a lifeline to a man who was clearly drowning, but was too proud to grab the vest?

Simple, you took it out of his hands.

“Altar destroyed?”

“Yes sir.”

Bobby managed not to flinch. Sir was never a good sign coming from Dean.

“Body disposed of?”

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but ended up simply nodding his head.

“Gather your gear, then.”

The boy finally turned his face toward him in surprise.

“Got a poltergeist in Ohio. It’s a two-man job. Need somebody to watch my back. You up for it?”

He watched the emotions run across Dean’s face: fear, shame, uncertainty and finally gratitude. The boy nodded and Bobby knew he wouldn’t drown...this time.


End file.
